Chemistry
by Dirty Kill
Summary: It's an alternate universe, and things are a little odd. Tyki and Cross are porn stars, for one, and there's documentary film in the making. Lulubell is the documentary maker, and she's determined to get ALL the good details. And when the documentary is finished, it's not like things end there. Cross/Tyki, some explicit chapters.
1. Chemistry

My name is Lulubell, and I am a documentary filmmaker. Some of my colleagues, and plenty of my critics, call me "eccentric", because I have the guts to film topics they consider too taboo- they don't want to risk the scornful public eye. Not me, I don't care. I never really have, not about opinions or sensibilities. I've documented war crimes, government crimes, hate crimes, drugs. So if they can't be bothered, that's alright. Less people to get in my way. My job is to inform.

Today I'm collecting an interview for a new project I'm working on. With gay porn stars.

I set my video recorder off to the side, on a table where it can catch the men sitting on the couch in front of me. "You're actors in adult videos," I say to start the interview off, and Tyki Mikk hums in agreement, shrugging. He looks a little awkward, but he'll warm up soon. Cross Marian is the one to answer. I can tell that his confidence could probably also be called arrogance. I approve.

"Yes. Isn't that exactly why you're filming us?" I grimace momentarily. Smartass.

"That's why, yes." I continue determinedly. "So. First off, how did you get into the profession?" Tyki gives a crooked little smile. He has bright gold eyes, I notice with fascination. Just like mine.

"I wanted another job for extra money," he says casually, and I'm not terribly surprised. I notice a slight accent, and I remember that he's originally from Portugal. Another foreigner, as the Americans like to call us. I'm glad I lost the hint of French in my voice a while ago. "Just like Marian," he continues. "I think you'll find that not many porn stars have really gotten their dream employment." Cross unfolds his arms to give Tyki a joking shove.

"I don't know," he says, half cynicism and half fun, "you are kind of a whore." The younger man twitches and reaches for a cigarette out of habit, digging out a lighter and lighting it thoughtlessly. I generally disapprove of smoking, but if people want to do it, that's their choice.

But still, Tyki reluctantly concedes the point. ". . . Sometimes." I conceal a tiny smile and go on to my next question.

"Are you judged by others for your choices?" The answer is obvious, but it's just good sense to get it down in video. Both of them blink; Tyki shrugs.

"Yes," he says patiently. "Lots of judging." He doesn't seem to mind it that much. I scribble a note down on my pad of paper. "It's part of why we use stage names instead of the names we were born with. You didn't think anyone would actually name their kid _Tyki,_ did you?"

"The judgement must have been a difficult adjustment in the beginning," I say, prodding for clarification.

Tyki makes a so-so gesture. "The number of people I give a damn about goes up to roughly seventeen maximum," he says carelessly. "I'm really not crushed."

Cross, as his answer to the question, informs me, "I'm a mad scientist. This is almost more respectable." I barely, barely manage to keep my reaction down to staring and a slight frown. Already, I know that's probably not going in the documentary.

". . . A mad scientist." There's a flat question in there.

"Yes," he affirms smugly, obviously enjoying my consternation, and next to him Tyki shakes his head despairingly.

"Don't bother, I truly have no idea why he says that," he tells me.

I pause for a long minute and then nod, resolving to just leave that alone. It's probably not relevant. "Alright then," I continue gamely. "Next question. Do you enjoy the work?" Cross laughs.

I don't quite know how to take that. But Tyki actually replies, and he throws in another smile as well, though I'm not sure it's genuine. "As in, do I physically respond to getting fucked? Of course." I don't care about that flavorful addition to the conversation. "But," he adds matter-of-factly, "I like women better." The new info does surprise me, and my expression speaks for itself.

". . . Ah. I see. Then why not just do straight pornography instead?"

Tyki seems to be used to this inquiry. "This actually pays better. And in straight vanilla porn, they usually like the man on top, and-"

Cross cuts him off with a smirk. "Mikk hates being on top. He gets off on people controlling him. It's his little secret."

The other man stares at him for a second and then shakes his head. "Not how I would have put it, Marian. You can stop now." The last part is added in a sulky murmur. Cross tosses back his red hair haughtily.

"I live to make your existence miserable," he informs Tyki breezily.

I attempt to steer things back to my questions, although this dynamic of theirs is amusing. It's something I want to record more of later. "You two seem to know each other fairly well. Do you work together often?" But I know the answer to this question too. I have a lot of videos of them, recent ones that I bribed one of their directors for. I'll use them to get reactions later, but their view of the question is what matters right now. They both nod.

"We have _chemistry,_" Tyki says in a bored, exaggerated tone, complete with contemptuous air quotes around the word. "So we sell alright." Cross opens his mouth to speak, but Tyki smacks him lightly on the head. "Oh no no, you're not allowed to talk any more. Not if this is another thing about the supposed secret life of yours truly."

Cross ignores this with dignity. "I was going to say that since we knew each other for a little bit before Mikk started up, it's easier." This is news to me.

"Were you friends? Enemies, casual acquaintances? Lovers?"

"I'm a part-time bartender. And he drinks far too much, so I saw him a lot," says Tyki, and that makes enough sense to me. Cross scowls.

"You drink plenty yourself."

Tyki covers for himself smoothly. "Which doesn't make a difference to the matter at hand," he dismisses.

I move on to my next inquiry. "Most, um, _actors_ tend to perform with many different people, but I've noticed that you two seem to have an... exclusive series." I watch the two of them blink and shrug together. Cross decides to answer this time.

"Of course we work with plenty of others. The directors noticed that some viewers liked us enough to request more of us specifically, however."

I've finished up with the questions for now. Time for something else. I scratch out another few notes about them on my paper and take my laptop out from its case. "I'd like your opinion on this," I tell them sweetly, and power it up out of sleep mode. The video is already on the screen, waiting to be played.

* * *

They both lean in to take a look at the screen, and I watch their faces out of curiosity. Cross smirks when he realizes what it is, and Tyki raises an eyebrow. I haven't actually seen this particular video, and I'm interested as well. It's an unedited cut, complete with all of the stuff that usually gets taken out of the final project.

The video gets going. On the screen, there's nothing particularly explicit for now. Just Tyki and Cross on a bed, talking. They go through a few awkward, uninteresting lines of dialogue, basically throwaway lines. Then the real point of the video begins; Tyki leans in for a kiss. The kiss is chaste at first, but within a minute or so, Cross is starting to tug off their clothes. Their breathing already heavier, they pause to trail their fingers slowly over the tented fabric of each other's pants, and Cross grinds his palm into Tyki's cock through his jeans, eliciting a small whimper of arousal from him.

"Marian," Tyki grits out, the sound tinny through the laptop speakers. They finish ridding themselves of their clothes, kissing all the while, but I get the sense that this video isn't as fast-paced as some of the others. Cross runs a hand over Tyki's chest, pinching at a nipple, teasing him, while Tyki lets his head fall back, lips parted in a soft hiss of approval. I get the sense that at least some of it is exaggerated; after all, this is all about displaying themselves well. Cross laughs, sounding a little less in control than he usually does.

"You like that?" he asks, and Tyki gives him a hazy glare that I know isn't faked this time.

"Shut up and keep going," he murmurs, and then cuts off with a gasp when Cross obliges and wraps his hand around Tyki's length, stroking slowly up and down. He rubs a thumb over the head, swirling in in circles, and Tyki arches a little.

Suddenly, a different voice cuts in and breaks the immersion. "Keep doing that with your thumb for a while," it says. I recognize the voice as Winters Sokalo, the director for this video. I don't really like the man, but he is the one who got me the unedited version. Cross nods and kisses Tyki again, continuing to tease Tyki's cock with just his fingers, barely enough to satisfy him. A minute passes, then two, then five, with only that slightly contact, and then Tyki finally gives in, figuring that it's been long enough to please Sokalo. "

Faster," he moans. "A-ah, faster."

The redhead presses his thumb in more and then releases Tyki's cock altogether. "Now the blowjob," Sokalo says from off camera, and I find myself annoyed that it takes away from the believability of this. Naturally, that's why they take these parts out of the video when they release it. Cross reclines on the bed, and despite myself, I lean in to see the screen better. I know what's coming. Tyki moves too, positioned over Cross's length, and he slowly takes it into his mouth, gripping the lower part with one hand. I hear him moan again, and the vibrations from his voice make Cross hiss in pleasure.

Tyki barely bobs his head, pausing every so often to lift away and lap his tongue over the head, almost mimicking Cross's earlier teasing. Cross only allows this for a minute or so before tangling his fingers in Tyki's hair, using the leverage to force Tyki to take him in deeper. Tyki takes the hint, sucking faster and harder, golden eyes closed. His other hand lowers, and he touches himself, pumping at a lazy pace.

Sokalo speaks again, and I feel another twinge of annoyance. Despite my focus on being professional, watching this is affecting me, and the director's harsh voice grates on my nerves. "Mikk, enough. Cross, prepare him," he says. I watch Tyki pull away, and they change positions so that Cross is on top of the other, pinning him down at the hips. He inserts a few fingers into Tyki's mouth, and Tyki gets them wet, even though I bet he has a sore jaw now. Then, for the first time, I notice the small bottle of lube resting on the sheets next to them. Cross uncaps it, spreading some of the oil on his already slick fingers.

Tyki spreads his legs a little wider, licking his lips in a calculated gesture, and Cross takes the opportunity to insert one of those fingers into him. And then another, slowly, using his other hand to continue stroking Tyki's cock to get him to relax. Cross looks up momentarily, probably seeing a command gesture from offscreen. Quickly enough, he's positioning himself to enter Tyki fully. I'm not an expert in gay sex, but I wonder if there isn't supposed to be a little more preparation.

Tyki's eyes widen slightly as Cross sinks into him, rocking slightly, and I hear an involuntary whimper from him. Pain this time, not pleasure. One hand is pinned above his head, fingers entwined with Cross's, and I watch as Cross stops rocking and gives a comforting squeeze. stroking his hair. And then, to my surprise, I hear Sokalo yet again. "Don't stop now. He's plenty ready."

Cross flat-out glares, unexpectedly, and doesn't comply, giving Tyki more time and kissing him on the forehead. I get the feeling that this is in no way part of the script. Tyki laughs a little, the sound trailing off into a moan. "I... know how to take it," he reassures, and Cross nods, resuming his thrusting. They really do respond to each other, I can see. They look genuinely engaged, and by now the way Tyki arches and the little sounds he makes don't seem faked. Cross changes the angle, looking for something, and manages a lust-clouded grin when Tyki gives a choked cry of pleasure, fingernails digging into the other's back.

The camera zooms in, focusing on Cross's hand on Tyki's cock as he fucks him. He's spreading the precum around, working him fast and hard, and it's getting milkier as Tyki gets closer. Judging by the way Cross thrusts deeper, and the groans of approval he's making too now, he's close as well.

"Not yet." There's that goddamn voice again, and the two onscreen seem just as displeased as I am this time. They reduce the pace, and Cross pets Tyki's hair a little, whispering in his ear. It's out of character, and I'm sure it will be cut from the final product.

They continue more slowly, concentrating on kissing. Cross's hand is holding Tyki at the base of his cock now, squeezing, making sure he doesn't cum yet. "Fuck," Tyki whines, sounding a little petulant.

"Now those lines we talked about," Sokalo interrupts again. "And some more noise, Mikk."

Tyki complies, letting out a wanton moan and adding more of a gasping note to his breathing. As for the lines the director mentioned- "Please," he begs Cross. It's scripted, but I can tell he means it, at least a little. "Please, more."

It seems to take all of Cross's self control, but he pulls out. And then he grips both of their lengths together, rubbing them up and down, precum mixing. Tyki hisses out another "Please," as per directions, and he reaches out to try and make Cross go faster.

"No," Cross tells him, pushing his hand away and pumping slower. "Not until I say so." Even I'm frustrated now, just watching the video on the small screen. They rub against each other a while longer, both getting more desperate- although Tyki has obviously been told to play up the neediness a little.

Finally, they've got enough footage by now for the finishing scene. They take each other's cocks fully in hand and jerk as quick and rough as they can, not bothering to stifle any noises. "Go ahead," Cross grits out, voice rough with arousal, and tangles his fingers in dark curls again, pulling. Tyki cums first, crying out and losing it completely as the stimulation from the hand on his cock overwhelms him. He's thrusting into Cross's hand for just a little more as he reaches climax. Cross follows quickly, letting out a feral growl in response and pressing flush against Tyki's body, savoring the heat.

They keep rocking against each other, drawing it out, still moaning, hips moving together until the pleasure slowly fades. The two of them stay that way for a while, sticky with cum and out of breath, still holding each other's softening lengths. Cross swipes a thumb over the head of Tyki's cock again, a last touch before letting go, and it gains a tiny, overstimulated sound from him.

"Cut." The video ends abruptly, and all there is on the screen is the "replay" icon overlaying the frozen image of the two of them curled up together, stomachs spattered with white.

* * *

I finally remember the purpose of watching that whole thing, and I look back to the two real men sitting on the couch in front of me. Cross is grinning unashamedly, Tyki looks unbothered by the whole thing, and I realize with slight discomfort that I'm going to need a cold shower. That was a lot more... personal than most porn I've seen, somehow.

I clear my throat. "Thoughts?" I ask. This documentary is supposed to be edgy, I tell myself, but I know that at least part of this is just for my own curiosity and amusement.

"You're totally my bitch, Mikk," Cross states, enjoying himself.

"It's an act, you know," Tyki retorts. I notice that neither of them are trying to hide that fact that they're both half-aroused.

I remember the way Cross broke character to make sure Tyki wasn't in too much pain. "You care for each other," I state.

"Being careful is just common courtesy, miss Lulubell," Cross replies with slight annoyance.

I shake my head. "I think I have enough to work with for today," I say. I gather my laptop, recorder, and notepad and depart with a smirk, leaving them to stare awkwardly at each other.

Hah.


	2. Relationship

It's been a few days since I conducted my first interview with Cross Marian and Tyki Mikk. I've spent some time refining the basic premise of what I'm going to put in the documentary, but somehow I find myself distracted. They interest me. It sounds terrible, but I have done enough serious documentaries about world problems to make me a little jaded about the whole thing. I'm enjoying the opportunity to do something that allows me to just talk to people, no pressure.

I gaze at the neon sign on the building in front of me- "The Ark," it reads, with a logo backing it: a stylized cross. Funny name and symbol for a bar, I think to myself as I stand outside, watching the cars go by and listening to the sounds of people inside. It's dark, almost eight o'clock. I don't much care for bars, but that's alright; I'm only here to meet someone.

Finally, I see the person I'm waiting for emerge from the back door, hands in his pockets. "You're early," Tyki says to me with slight surprise. He's still in his version of the slightly formal outfit some bartenders wear, and I have to admit that he wears it nicely. He seems natural in the role of his part-time job.

"Hardly. You're late," I inform him crisply.

He shrugs. "I can't help when my shift ends. Anyway, here we are. You wanted another interview or something?"

I walk with him to his car, and we stand outside it, despite the cold air. I find myself momentarily without anything to say, but he fills the gap easily enough. "I'll take you to my apartment, if you like. We can talk there," he suggests. I'm surprised at the offer, actually, and not sure how I feel about the invitation. It doesn't feel professional. Then again, he seems a little uncomfortable too, but willing to give this a shot.

"That'll be fine," I say with a nod. We drive for a while, mostly in silence, and I take in the city lights from behind the windows of the car. After the silence stretches out long enough to become awkward, I decide to put in some effort as well. "I appreciate you agreeing to this."

He smiles without taking his eyes off the road. "If your documentary is well-received, it'll be good publicity for the Order." I wonder what he means for a second, and then I remember that the studio he works for is called Black Order Videos. He sounds unenthusiastic, though.

"You don't seem to care much about any of that," I say questioningly, and watch as he fidgets a little bit.

He sighs a tiny bit. "If you must know, director Sokalo put a little bit of pressure on me about this. Said you requested me and Cross specifically, and it would be 'wise' to go along._ For the good of the business,_ or something. I swear, he acts like porn is some kind of high art form."

I catch the annoyed note in his voice as we pull up in the apartment parking lot, and I hope he isn't resentful. We make our way to his place, and as soon as he unlocks the door, he unceremoniously flops down onto the couch. I take a chair. The room smells a little like cigarettes, and predictably, he pulls one out and lights it. "You don't mind, do you?" he asks, though I get the feeling that he's only being polite.

I shake my head, and he takes a deep drag. Something jumps onto my lap, and I startle momentarily, making Tyki snicker. A little cat sits there, black with a diamond patch on its forehead. "That's Noah," says Tyki as the cat meows at me.

It surprises me that he has a cat, for some reason, and he can see that. "What? I like cats. I like lots of things besides getting screwed on camera, Lulubell. I have a life." Tyki's amused at my expense, and he continues. "Marian has a pet too, actually. Obnoxious parrot. He calls it Timcanpy." A dismissive gesture. "I hate the thing. He's taught it how to curse like a sailor."

"Baaalls. Shiiiiiit," a squawky voice shrieks suddenly, and I look over towards the source to see a birdcage with a parrot in it. Incredulous, I frown.

"You have a parrot too?"

Tyki blinks at me, confused. "No, that's Tim. Just like I said. Marian's bird." I realize what that means just as another voice sounds from a different room.

* * *

"Mikk! Do the fucking dishes!" Tyki sprawls out more carelessly on the couch, rolling his eyes and shouting back.

"I have company, alright? Didn't you know? Show some class. Even your parrot is being a dick." Cross walks in from the kitchen, scowling. The expression fades a bit when he sees me, though.

"Oh. I didn't know it was her. Could have warned me," Cross says with a little chagrin. I'm trying my hardest not to show my amusement, having gotten over my initial confusion.

"You live together," I say, almost enjoying teasing them.

"We're just roommates," they both protest at the same time.

"This is cost-effective," Tyki grumbles. "And he's terrible with money. We can't exactly live the high life when he blows it all on gambling every couple months," he says, directing the comment at Cross.

"Shut up," the redhead sighs.

I interrupt the good-natured sniping for a moment. "You're in a relationship?" I'm just assuming, but honestly, what are the odds? My theory, however, is disproved when they both look genuinely bewildered, sharing looks of mutual confusion.

Tyki answers for both of them. "Um. No," he drawls out. "Our work lives and personal lives don't intersect." Cross opens his mouth, probably to make a smart comment, and Tyki sighs at him. "Strictly platonic, with some benefits thrown in. We... um, _practice... _sometimes, but there's no relationship."

"Practice?" I wonder.

Tyki lifts an eyebrow and then puts on a comical, fake expression of lust, leaning back on the couch and imitating the kinds of sounds they make in their videos. He exaggerates dramatically- "Ah! Ah! Ooh, fuck me harder, Mariaaaan!" He quits it quickly and sits up, grinning lazily. "That kind of practice."

I'm don't blush and giggle. After all, I'm not exactly a prude myself. Cross just snorts at Tyki's antics and shakes his head. "Nope, no relationship." They both pause, still marveling at why I would think such a thing. They're clueless, I figure.

Another few seconds of uncomfortableness pass, and then Tyki clears his throat. "We have some Chinese in the fridge, I think. You like chow mein?"

I'm almost a little touched. I never really spend time with others; I've always been content to stay on my own. Distanced. And certainly, I never have dinner with near-strangers. But I like these two. They don't seem to mind my poking and prodding, and my usual frostiness is melting a little. Because for once, they're the ones who have more to be judged by. Not me.

We have the Chinese food, and I don't conduct my interview.

I think I've made friends.


	3. Jealousy

It's two in the morning, and I'm staring blankly at the screen of my computer. I've been assembling clips from all the footage I have so far and arranging them into the format I want, and it's taking ages. I have the video, the audio, and the voiceovers, but putting them all in order is a painstaking process. Annoyed, I realize that I only have enough material to be about half done.

Giving up on working anymore, I finally go to bed, asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.

The next day, I haven't got anything planned. I should keep working, but I don't have the motivation for it at the moment. I go through the hours concentrating on mundane things. Laundry. Groceries. Taxes. I hate it.

* * *

Around seven, though, I get a text. I expect it to be one of my coworkers, but it's from Cross. _Going out tonight_, it says._ Come along?_

I hate going out.

Don't I? I used to.

I accept anyway, and soon enough I've dressed up a little. I meet Cross at The Ark. It's busy tonight. To my surprise, Tyki isn't with him, and he isn't bartending either. "Just you and me?" I ask as we sit down, and he shrugs.

"Everyone else I know is busy, and this place is better than staying at the apartment and being bored. Besides, you're a friend." I try to ignore the nice feeling the words give me and fidget slightly.

I'm used to both of them being together, but I know I shouldn't be surprised that they have separate lives. He decides to answer my unspoken question by himself, though. "Mikk is at the studio," he explains as we order our drinks. Hard alcohol for him, something light for me. I'm not a heavy drinker.

"Doing a scene?" I wonder, and he nods, making an obscene gesture roughly mimicking sex. I snicker a little into my drink despite myself as another customer glances over, scandalized.

"He might be a little sore tomorrow," Cross says with a grin. "I'm sure he'll bitch about it later."

I can't tell if I'm being invasive or not, but I've never been particularly tactful anyway, so I go ahead and ask what I'm thinking. "Do you get jealous sometimes?"

"Of the other actors? Not really," he tells me, taking a slow drink. "Like I said before, it's just a job." I think about that answer for a while.

"I would be, in your situation," I admit.

A shrug. "He doesn't get jealous when I do it. And he doesn't mind me flirting otherwise." He surreptitiously points out one of the waitresses, a woman with loose, dark hair and wide, timid eyes. Her nametag reads _Miranda_. "Her, for instance. I always get caught ogling her. Just look at those legs," he says wistfully.

I feign disapproval, tsking at him, and he laughs. "Besides," he continues more thoughtfully, "they might have sex with him, but I'm the one he always picks." I sense some possessiveness.

This conversation is getting unexpectedly personal for him, but he doesn't seem to mind. "Because you're good friends?" I ask cautiously.

"I suppose so," he says with a neutral shrug. "I know him as a person better than they do."

By the end of the night, I haven't even finished my drink, and surprisingly, he's only had one. I get the feeling that he was intending on having more, but a contemplative mood has settled in instead. As we're getting in the car, he looks suddenly surprised by a thought. "Shit," he says. "I said I'd pick him up tonight. His car's not working today."

I shake my head in exasperation. "Honestly? Should have thought of that." Looks like we're going to the studio. When we arrive, Cross insists on going to look for him, instead of just waiting for Tyki to show up.

* * *

"Bastard's always late," he grumbles, and he only shows slight amusement when we stumble upon the room where they're shooting the scene in question. The door and the "set" are separated by a sheet of glass, and it seems to be soundproof, because I can't hear any of the... activity, except for a few faint noises. I turn to leave, but Cross stays behind to watch, and I reluctantly sidle back. "I suppose it ran longer than expected," he comments casually. And then, to my bewilderment, he says, "This is what I was talking about."

He gestures at the two men with Tyki. "They're okay, but they haven't got it quite right."

He continues with a list of specific faults, and I don't know whether to be confused or to laugh. "The one he's sucking off isn't giving him any time to breathe, and the one behind has him in a bad position. It's putting too much weight on his wrists on each thrust, and he's not hitting the right spot either. Neither of them is touching him where he wants it; he probably won't finish this time." His tone is clinical and conversational, but he gives me a smug look.

"They know how to do the scene, but I'm the one who can tell when he's about to cum by his breathing, I know his favorite position, and I know how to tell by his voice whether he's enjoying it or in pain." He grins even wider and keeps watching as the scene finishes up. "Ah, they've wrecked him. He's definitely not driving the car on the way back."

I must have on a very strange expression, because he crosses his arms defensively. "What?" he says. "Other people can take pride in their work, right? So do I."

"And you wonder why I assumed you were together," I say with maximum sarcasm. Maybe he had more to drink earlier than I thought.

The director- a strict woman named Klaud this time, not Sokalo- comes around to make conversation with Cross, and he flirts with her too, even though he doesn't seem to have a chance.

Later, when Tyki's cleaned up and had a shower, he greets us with a yawn and a wave. "Got a cigarette on you, pervert voyeur?" he asks Cross, who obliges without even denying the nickname.

"So what was the setup?" Cross inquires. "Pizza delivery? Cable guy? Pool boy?"

"Apparently, I'm the boyfriend of one of them, and he decided to share me with his brother." Tyki looks annoyed by it. "Funny. I never knew."

He suddenly stops, looking worried in addition to sore. "Did you feed Noah?"

Cross cuffs him on the head lightly. "Yes, I fed your damn cat."

This is not going in the documentary, I think to myself incredulously.

* * *

The next week, I have another interview with Tyki. By now, though, I've stopped thinking of them as interviews. We're conversing. I ask him the same question I asked Cross at the bar: does he get jealous? The answer is the same.

"Hardly," he snorts. "I'm not so insecure that I get jealous of people neither of us really knows." He pauses, deciding whether or not to continue. "I do get jealous of Marian himself, though. Sometimes. Not too badly, but it happens."

Intrigued, I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "...And?" I ask. "Why is that?"

He grimaces and makes an apathetic gesture. "Did you know that the man has multiple master's degrees?"

I didn't know that, and it probably shows. "It's true," Tyki sighs. "He got his first one when he was seventeen. Seventeen, for Christ's sake. And then he taught at the same college. Neurobiology, or something."

"I don't understand," I say, frowning.

He laughs. "Neither do I. But he got fired in spectacular fashion for something- I won't say what- and I don't know why he decided to start doing this instead."

A brief flash of something I don't recognize crosses his features. Maybe amusement, maybe pain. "You know what_ I_ was when I was seventeen?" he says. I shake my head, feeling as though I'm getting into bad territory.

He hums lightly and looks away. "A rent boy." I feel my eyes widen. I don't know why he'd tell me something so personal.

"Back in Portugal, that is. Not the fancy kind that call themselves _escorts_ and have business cards, either. No money, no parents, servicing men in alleyways and hotels for twenty euros an hour." Tyki doesn't seem bothered by the recollection, beyond a little bit of unhappy nostalgia. He's a good actor. "Maybe that's why I have this current job. It's similar, to some degree."

"I couldn't read until I was eighteen," he muses. "Me and my brother got adopted by a rich family, though, so at least we stopped being hungry."

I start a sentence several times, stopping each time to weigh my words. "Why are you telling me this?"

Tyki shrugs. "You're a good listener, Lulubell. And it's not something I feel the need to hide." He gives a half-smile. "Plus, you did ask if I was jealous. It's only polite to elaborate fully."

I find that my opinion of him hasn't changed at all.

"Don't let Marian know I told you about it, though," Tyki requests, and there's an edge behind the words. He means it. "He'll get all protective and read into it too much." I promise him that I won't, and he lets it go.

He trusts me enough to say this when he knows that he's on camera. Later, when I'm working on putting the most recent clips in order, I delete every part of what he said.


	4. Content

**[In Cross's point of view this time.]**

* * *

When Tyki gets home today, he seems wistful. I don't call him out on it, but I decide to do the laundry this time. "Your interview go bad, Mikk?" I ask him. I almost never call him by his first name, and he calls me by _my_ first name because when we met, his accent was thicker. So he had some trouble saying "Cross," and "Marian" was easier. The habit stuck.

"She talked to me about home," he says, and I don't inquire further. "I think she's getting closer to finishing her documentary," he muses. I shrug and finish folding the clothes, but I figure he'll put them away later.

"Maybe," I say with a shrug. "She's been working on it for a while. She's even talked to the directors. Sokalo blew her off, but I think Klaud likes her. After all, they're both chilly, pretty women," I laugh. I always try for Klaud, but I don't think I'll ever get her.

He fishes out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long, slow drag. "You think she'll stick around after she's done?" he asks, and I nod. We've gotten fond of her.

"Of course. She likes us. And I'm sure she irreversibly drawn in by my hypnotic charm," I say, smirking. "That must be it."

He rolls his eyes at me, a familiar gesture. "That's what you said about your last one-night stand," he tells me. "And she didn't even stay the night, remember?"

"Well, I didn't need her to," I snort. "Besides, why do you care? You were at the bar late that night anyway. Mopping the floors for overtime, or something."

"It's called _working,_" he reminds me. "You know, to pay the bills, you lazy bastard?" I throw a shirt at his head.

"Hey, I work too," I tell him with a scowl. "I have that tutoring job for the high schoolers, remember? Teaching brats their history and chemistry and whatnot."

Tyki blows smoke in my face, grinning tiredly. "You tutor once a week, if you're lucky. And I've met some of those kids, you know. Yuu is too grumpy to appreciate your help, you're always mean to Allen, and Lavi doesn't really need tutoring. I'm not even going to mention that Lenalee girl. I'm sure you traumatize her. Do they know what you do the rest of the time?"

I shake my head. "Dumb question. Of course they don't. Besides, you can barely read, remember?" He normally laughs at that, but today I see a tiny flash of discomfort instead.

He said Lulubell asked him about home, and I wonder if Lulubell asked him all the wrong questions. I don't think she'd do it on purpose, though. We're friends, after all. But maybe talking about his less-than-perfect past has made him gloomy.

I sit next to him and sling an arm across his shoulder, leaning his head against my shoulder. From behind us, Timcanpy squawks, "Lovebirds!" I give him the finger.

"You're not so much fun right now," I prod. "Sokalo bitch you out about your "performance" again lately? He did yell at you that once last month for missing a shoot."

"No." He makes a soft noise of discontent. "...Let's just drink," he says. I frown. I've got a friendly relationship with alcohol too, but even I know it's a bad idea to drink to get rid of a bad mood. "Come on," he complains, watching Noah wander around the opposite side of the room, batting at his favorite toy with little paws.

"We can put the pets in the other room so we don't scar their tender eyes," he says with strong sarcasm. "I just need a drink," he says quietly. "I don't think watching Buffy or Cold Case is gonna do enough cheering up this time. And drinking alone would just be sad and awkward."

I exhale slowly. I can indulge him this once. "Alright, mister doom and gloom. What do we have in the cabinet?"

* * *

A while later, we're both drunk. Him more than me. "We do this too much," Tyki slurs as he leans heavily on me. "We drink too much and smoke too much, and we're terrible people who make terrible decisions," he continues, sounding almost annoyed.

I cuff him on the side of the head. "You're the one who suggested it, jackass," I grumble. "And where's all this existential angst coming from...?"

He leans forward for a kiss, and I oblige. We both taste like tequila, and I bring my hand up to pet his hair.

When I pull away, he hides his face in the crook of my neck and hums. "I'm not angsting," he complains. "Don't make fun of me. You're lucky I can stand living with you," he says in a lecturing tone. "You get obnoxious."

"Likewise," I growl, and he tries for another kiss, needy and insistent. "No. Not right now," I sigh, moving back. "You're not yourself. It'd be odd in the morning."

Tyki glares at me. It would be a dangerous glare if I didn't know that he doesn't really mean it. "But I want it," he sulks. "You always like fucking me when we're sober, why not now?"

I shake my head, and we stagger to my bed, sprawling across it in a tangle. He fumbles at the buttons on my shirt, and I smack his hand away. "Tyki," I say as sternly as I can at the moment. "I'm trying very hard not to take advantage of you here." I'm normally not so good with self-restraint, but right now I'm managing.

"It's not taking advantage if I tell you to," he huffs. But he stops and flops back, and we lay there in companionable silence for a while, staring at the ceiling.

"Are we in love?" he asks me, sounding slightly confused and troubled.

I suppress a laugh. "No. We're friends with lots and lots of benefits, and we like each other a lot. But we're not in love."

He nods, completely satisfied with that answer. "Okay."

We pass out together soon enough, and wake up with awful hangovers.

He makes the coffee, and none of us thinks about that conversation again. We don't need to. It's settled, and we're content.

* * *

**ENDNOTE: Yes, I know, smoking around pets is super terrible for the animals, and it's very bad to always keep parrots in their cages. Let's just pretend that in this universe, it's not.**


	5. Surprise

**[In Tyki's point of view.]**

* * *

Today's morning starts with the usual monotony. Wake up to Marian snoring. Shower, clothes, breakfast. Bitch to myself about not getting enough sleep.

When I check my email, I'm greeted with the usual: trash, trash, spam, trash. But this time, something breaks the boredom. There are two surprises waiting for me in my inbox.

The first surprise is an email from Lulubell. It's short and succinct, just three sentences, as is her style. They're important sentences though. _I'm finished with the documentary. Want to see? You and Cross can come over to my place and tell me what you think._

I blink a few times, honestly not expecting that. I knew she was close to being done, but somehow I didn't think it would be this soon, even if it's been a long time since we first met her. The idea of seeing the finished project almost makes me cringe from uncomfortable embarrassment, actually. But we are friends, so I dutifully send back my congratulations and tell her that we'll come over. I know that she probably sent Marian the same message, and I can just imagine his glee when he reads it. There won't be any more formal interviews to do, and he'll get to watch me squirm. It's win-win for him, I think with slight amusement.

I smile, pleased despite my mixed feelings about the documentary. It's nice to see Lulu's hard work pay off, even from a distance. I know she'll be relieved too.

On to the second surprise. Unlike the first email, this one is incredibly long and flowery. As soon as I see who it's from, I groan in exasperation. It's my brother. Cyril. He always sends me huge walls of text about how much he misses me and so on, but this time the correspondence seems to actually have a point to it. He wants me to visit the family a few days from now, and he wants me to bring guests. It's a party. To catch up, he says. The specific words are _"To stage a delightful reunion of souls and to experience our deep kinship once more, with the addition of faithful companions."_ I shake my head, marveling at his endless ability to be overly dramatic.

For a moment, I seriously consider saying that I have something else to do and blowing the whole thing off. But I change my mind, because although I'd never admit it, I do miss them all. Even Cyril. Even, I think with a roll of my eyes, the Twins. Family is family, anyway, even if I do dislike that huge mansion Cyril owns.

One deliberately brief acceptance message later, I put my laptop aside, light a cigarette, and just think about things. The documentary. Shopping for groceries. Taxes. My brother's party. The pretty waitresses at work. The new dent in my car.

The stream of thoughts fades away into the fact that I'm just glad I don't have to go anywhere today.

Eventually Marian wakes up too, and once he's read Lulubell's email, he gives me a self-satisfied grin. "I don't care how lazy you are. We're going to go do that today, if she'll have us," he tells me.

"You're the one who slept in ridiculously late," I remind him. "Don't go calling me lazy."

But we end up setting the time for 3 o'clock.

* * *

Lulubell's house has always been nice. Not huge, but it's stylish, although I can't say I'd be happy living there. All the ultramodern, oddly-shaped chairs and fashionable abstract art hanging on the white walls just isn't for me. She greets us at the door with one of her subdued, quiet smiles, looking particularly pleased this time. "Gentlemen," she says, inviting us in.

Some smalltalk and a few cups of coffee later, we settle on the couch to watch her finished product. I notice with a private grin that she's even gone to the trouble of burning it to a disk so we can watch it on the larger screen of her TV.

The title is "Offscreen: Different Lives". It catchy, but a little dramatic. I like it anyway, and I suppose she couldn't exactly call it "Asking Porn Stars About Stuff". The music isn't ridiculous, and Lulu's done a good job of cutting the interviews together in a way that makes sense.

The directors are included, and some of our coworkers. There's shots of Marian with his textbooks, and me in at work, and she even manages to get our pets in there somewhere. It's comprehensive, and I have to admit that she's a good filmmaker. I find myself actually interested for the whole time we watch it, even though it's not like any of the information given in the documentary is new to me. Marian is next to me on the couch, and we toss each other smug looks at the particularly goods parts, murmuring our approval to Lulubell.

I expected it to be a little mocking of us, or at least a little false. Not because I don't trust Lulu, just because that's how things usually go. But it's not like that at all.

When we finish watching, I look over at her as the credits start. She looks... almost nervous. "So?" she asks, fiddling slightly with the remote.

Marian starts. "You made us look..."

She winces, obviously going through a list of possible mistakes in her mind. "Unprofessional? Unlikable? _Weird?_ I'm more used to doing heavy political documentaries, but I didn't mean to-"

I cut her off, elbowing Marian in the ribs for keeping her in suspense like that. "Realistic," I tell her, and watch her regain her usual confidence with an almost inaudible sigh of relief.

We give our critique and praise, and after we've all laughed and joked and discussed it all, she pauses with a reflective look. "The critics will have a field day, though," she says with a little bit of resignation.

"Let them," Marian tells her. "Besides, it's not like the documentary is the main point here," he adds with an arrogant toss of his head and a smirk. "You've got us as friends now, so that's much better."

I nod in agreement, perfectly willing to toss modesty to the wind.

"We should celebrate," I suggest. "No more interviews for us, no more late hours on your laptop for you. Definitely worth something." Then an idea presents itself.

"My brother's having this party..."


	6. Family

**[Lulu's point of view.]**

* * *

As we arrive at the party, I'm a little nervous despite myself. Meeting Tyki's family seems awkward, not to mention the strangeness of having to explain to them what my connection to him is. In addition, the place where to party is happening is imposing in its own right. A huge, elegant mansion comes into view as we approach. It even has an expansive garden to go along with it. Tyki seems to notice my surprise, laughing and shooting an amused glance at Cross, who's next to him.

"They have money," he says with a shrug. "I choose not to take advantage of it." Personally, I can't imagine turning the opportunity for such an affluent lifestyle down, but I suppose Tyki just wants to make his own way in the world. I can respect it, if not understand it. Before I can get too deep into thinking about it, I'm interrupted.

A tall man in a suit stands at the door, obviously eager to greet us. I notice with bemusement that he's got a monocle; it seems a little too old fashioned and out of place for this century. His long hair detracts a little from the grandiose atmosphere surrounding him, but he still makes me a little uneasy. For now, I settle for calling him eccentric in my head instead of just plain bizarre. He grins widely and spreads his arms in a dramatic gesture, swooping down the steps. "Brother!" he gushes, wrapping Tyki in a constricting hug before he can move away. So this is him, I think. I can see a little family resemblance, now that I think about it. Meanwhile, Tyki squirms against the hold uncomfortably, trying to push him away a little.

"Yes," he sighs with strained patience. "Hello, Cyril." He seems annoyed on the surface, but it's not serious. I remember that they haven't seen each other in a long time. "Nice of you to invite us," he continues awkwardly.

Cyril nods, still beaming. "And here you are." He kisses Tyki on the cheek, eliciting an expression of distaste from him and raised eyebrows from Cross and I. Turning his attention to the two of us, he bows deeply. "Cross Marian," he acknowledges with a polite nod of his head to Cross, who returns it cordially as well. They've met before, and they don't seem to like each other much, but they're keeping that separate for the sake of politeness.

He turns his gaze to me, and I continue to think that he's slightly off in some way. "But you, young lady. I don't think we've been introduced." I extend a hand to shake automatically, and to my consternation, he kisses it instead. Deciding to ignore it, I don't react. Until I get more information about him, I'm not going to show and particular emotion, I tell myself.

"Lulubell," I tell him simply, keeping my standard neutral expression in place. To my side, Tyki gives me a sympathetic look while Cross snickers, amused.

"A lovely name for a lovely woman," Cyril says smoothly, and with that, he opens the door and lets us in. There are already plenty of guests there, all dressed in fine clothing. It's a high-class affair, and I was correct about the mansion being incredibly decadent. It's not to my tastes, but I have to admit that it's floors and fine silk curtains are everywhere, and the rest of the guests are all equipped with crystal wineglasses and haughty expressions.

Cross rolls his eyes at me. "Filthy rich," he mutters under his breath, making sure Cyril doesn't hear, but Tyki catches the sound and turns to look at him with a slightly embarrassed grin.

"Shhh," he urges. "At least they didn't demand that we wear fancy clothing too." I happen to know that he looks very good in a suit, but I also know that he probably chose to wear normal work clothes to this event just to spite Cyril. Turning to his brother, who's walking several paces ahead, he raises his voice. "I think we can find our own ways," he suggests hopefully. "Really, there's no need to follow us around."

It works, and Cyril drifts off to socialize after making us promise to ask him if we need anything. Cross watches after him, snorting indelicately. "Your brother's a creep," he says to Tyki, who crosses his arms.

"My entire family is made up of creeps," he informs Cross, but then sighs. "And I'm rather fond of them," he says with a hint of an edge to his tone, proving to me that he does love them in his own way.

Cross makes a dismissive gesture, scoffing, but he's gives Tyki a quick nod that shows he understands. Adopting a teasing tone, he can't resist adding something else. "Makes sense, Mikk. Since you can also be a creep." It's delivered with hidden affection, though, and Tyki just laughs it off. He turns to head in the direction of the desserts table, but before he can, a blur of motion slams into him.

I see a young girl clinging to him; she practically jumps into his arms. "Tyyykiiii!" she squeals happily, and Tyki laughs.

"Careful," he says. "Almost gave me a heart attack." He ruffles her hair and gives a quick hug, stepping back to get a better look at her.

Her gleeful expression turns into a petulant pout for a moment. "You haven't visited in a while," she says accusingly, crossing her arms, and he shrugs sheepishly.

"Sorry," he offers. "I've been busy." With that, he turns to me. "This is Road, my niece. Technically." They treat each other more like close siblings, but I figure that since the entire family seems to be unrelated by blood, and they probably never interacted much as niece and uncle, that makes a little sense. Tyki continues. "She's a little menace," he informs us dryly, and Road gives him a punch on the arm with a tiny fist. He rolls his eyes.

"Am not," Road protests, and Cross makes a disagreeing sound. She turns the glare on him, and then looks at me instead. "You must be Lulubell." I'm surprised that she knows who I am, and I note that her demeanor has changed to something much more mature now. It's a little creepy, in fact. "Have you been taking care of Tyki?" she asks, and it makes me smile.

"I do try," I respond. She takes my hand suddenly, tugging me off to the side while Cross and Tyki watch with slight pity.

"Come on," she says, tone bubbly. "Let's socialize."

I resign myself to the fate of interacting with high society and let myself be dragged along, waving goodbye to the other two I leave behind. Tyki mouths a quick "good luck".

* * *

**ENDNOTE: Sorry it was such a huge wait between chapters. I've been distracted.**


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